Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
He licks a wet path along the soft swell of my breast, dissolving my thoughts.
But eventually they reconstitute, as nagging thoughts tend to do.
“I worry, Thomas.”
He pauses, lifting his head and stroking my hair.
“Worry about what, love?”
“About your parents. They are . . . traditional.”
He snorts. “If my conversation with them the other night is anything to go by, they may not be as traditional as they seem.”
“But still, this is their home, and I’m their guest. And they’ve given us separate rooms. I worry it’s . . . disrespectful that you’re sleeping in mine and not your own.”
Thomas kisses my cheek, moving toward my ear.
“But remember, this home has forty rooms. It’s not as if they’ll ever know I’m sleeping in here.”
At that moment, a knock comes at the door.
And then the sound of Thomas’s mother’s voice.
“Calista? Are you awake?”
Thomas groans into the pillow beside me.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
And panic grips my throat.
“You said she wouldn’t come to either of our rooms,” I hiss.
“She never does this,” he whispers, flustered. “I swear!”
And the knock comes again.
“Calista?”
“Coming, Your Majesty,” I call back in a voice that’s unnaturally high-pitched. “Just donning my robe.”
Donning? Did I really just say that?
I pull my nightgown together and leap from the bed.
“You have to hide!” I mouth to Thomas.
“Where am I supposed to go?” he whispers back. “This bed’s an antique—I won’t fit under it. They made men smaller in the old days!”
I flap my hand at him.
“Shhh!”
Then I fling the blanket over his head.
“Just stay under there. And don’t move!”
The Queen knocks again—making me jump. I shove my arms into my robe and dart to the door.
With time for only a single deep breath, which does nothing to settle my nerves, I open the door. Because this is the first time that I’m seeing her today, I dip into a quick curtsy, then pop back up—smiling so wide my face hurts.
“Apologies, ma’am. I’ve only just woken up.”
Her eyes peruse me. They’re astute and all-knowing—and for a moment, my lungs seize. So much terrifying in such a little woman.
“The apologies should be mine, for coming by so early,” she says with a tight smile. “But I wanted to tell you personally that a photographer will be here this afternoon, to take candid shots. For posterity.”
“How nice.” I tilt my head and cock my hip in a feeble attempt to obstruct her view of the bed.
“And . . . I’ve arranged a stylist to meet with you after breakfast. She’ll bring several outfits; choose what you like best. She’ll also take care of your hair and makeup—simple, but elegant, you know.”
“Lovely,” I squeak. “Thank you.”
The Queen’s gaze travels over my shoulder, making a beeline through the small window of space that exists between myself and the door.
“But Christmas breakfast is casual. Wear whatever you’re comfortable in.”
I nod—no longer able to speak.
And just as she’s about to depart . . . a sneeze comes from under the bed linens.
And I want to die. I actually might. I may very well self-immolate from the humiliation that’s scorching my cheeks.
The Queen raises a brow. Then she calls, “That goes for you as well, Thomas.”
I glance back as Thomas pushes the blanket off his head.
And waves.
“Morning, Mum. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas.” She looks him over a moment, then gestures to his head. “Do be sure to run a comb through your hair before you come down, my boy. Casual is one thing, but we can’t have you walking around looking like you’ve stuck your finger in a socket. It’s undignified.”
He gives her a thumbs-up.
“Will do.”
Her Majesty’s lips twitch, almost as if she’s holding in a laugh.
“I’ll see you both at breakfast.”
“Yes, Queen Lenora,” I manage to say. “See you then.”
She glides away and I close the door. Then I turn, pressing my back against it and covering my face with both hands.
“I can’t believe that just happened!”
I hear the rustle of the blankets as Thomas gets out of bed and moves closer.
“Lis, it’s fine.”
“She probably thinks I’m a whore!”
Thomas laughs shamelessly. “No, she doesn’t.”
“She does!” I wail. “And I really wanted her to like me!”
Thomas tugs my hands off my eyes.
“My mother was born without the capacity for subtlety. And she doesn’t have a shy bone in her body. If she didn’t like you, you’d know for certain because she would’ve said so to your face just now. Instead, she said she’ll see you at the breakfast table.”
His confidence and humor soothe my embarrassment.
“You’re sure?”
“Completely sure.”
I sigh, and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing against his warm, strong chest—comforted by the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek and the kiss of his lips on the top of my head.
“It won’t really matter after this afternoon, anyway.”
I lean back, looking up at him.
“What do you mean?”
Thomas’s eyes search mine.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?”